


Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child

by SuperHighSchoolLevelTrash



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Dark!Spain, M/M, Psychological Drama, Torture, i don't know how to tag omfg, it'll come in later chapters shhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperHighSchoolLevelTrash/pseuds/SuperHighSchoolLevelTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spain adores Romano, more than anything. But how will his spiraling sanity affect the one he loves most? Will he be able to snap out of it, or succumb to the sweet addiction that is causing pain? Those who are bad must be punished, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. El dolor es bueno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wHAT IS THIS???

There was blood on his shirt. It felt wet and slimy, and as much as he didn't want to enjoy the feeling, he did. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ear, the music that was on repeat every day. There was nothing to like about this lifestyle, so why was he smiling?

Spain couldn't comprehend it. _Reino de España_ was about passion and life. What he was doing, that was the opposite. He was a killer; a cold-hearted, evil murderer.

He heard the familiar pitter-patter of footsteps, and immediately pulled the soaked white shirt off, hiding it behind his back before the source of the steps could see. That was the last thing Spain needed. Any nation could witness how truly pathetic he had become, except for this one. This one mattered.

"Oy, bastard, what took you so long?" the tiny nation asked, a plump tomato grasped in his hand. His apron was stained with various foods, making it clear what he was doing all day. South Italy Romano, the only thing that Spain's frozen heart could still find warmth for. No matter how awful he was or how many things he broke, Spain was good at pushing down his boiling anger for him, out of genuine love and adoration. Hopefully, the feeling would never die down.

" _Hola_ , _mi_ Romano. I'm sorry, I had to work longer than expected. But I am back now, and that's all that matters, _si_?" he asked, fingers digging into the hidden shirt. He felt the blood ooze onto his fingers, mimicking the tomato juice that was dripping onto his precious boy's own tiny digits. The sight made him nauseous.

Romano pouted, his cheeks puffing up adorably. "I guess. I'm tired. Tuck me in, idiot." He took another bite of the ruby fruit, before reaching his arms out to Spain. Things like this made the bigger country feel human, instead of the killing machine he had succumbed to. He picked the little nation up with one arm, ignoring the slew of curses that came with accidentally brushing against his sensitive curl. He was tired as well.

Both were silent as they headed to Romano's room, the southern part of Italy still munching on his beloved tomato, and the Kingdom of Spain wondering how to get rid of his shirt. It was still behind his back, and he didn't want the smaller to see it. Perhaps he would just give it to Belgium. She was so good at understanding his state of being and destroying evidence. It was so his little Romano didn't have to see how peaceful his nation really wasn't.

Spain carefully placed Romano on his bed, wrapping him in enough blankets to be uncomfortably warm. "There we go. All comfy, Romano? Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to eat with you! Doesn't that sound nice?"

The Italian scoffed, shutting his eyes. "Whatever, jerk. I don't care."

Spain grabbed the half-eaten tomato, kissing the top of his little nation's head. " _Buenas noches_ , Romano." He paused, but only soft snores replied. He left the room silently, shutting the door. He would've liked to keep it open, but Romano always got up in the middle of the night to strip down to nothing, and he screamed that he didn't want Belgium to see that.

Speaking of Belgium, Spain went right to her room and gave her the bloody shirt. She accepted it without question, albeit a concerned look aimed toward him. Then, he went to bed.

He didn't like killing people. But what was he meant to do? His country was broke, and he wouldn't be able to keep Romano if he just sat around. So he had to take drastic measures. But as long as Romano was safe, that's all that mattered.

Spain fell asleep easily, the shrieks from earlier slipping his mind as he did.

* * *

 

_Spain didn't have a throne. He didn't need all of that, he wasn't a king or anything, he was the literal nation of Spain. Just an office was enough. Yet, as he sat in the scarlet and gold seat, a throne seemed acceptable._

_He was holding a sword, a detailed one at that, with intricate designs swirled all around the base. There was also blood. The rust-colored substance seemed to illustrate the designs perfectly. It was so beautiful. He didn't see anything wrong with it._

_There was a knock on the door in front of him. It made him irritated. He wanted to gaze at his beautiful, magnificent weapon for a while, who would dare to bother him? "Come in," he commanded, his voice betraying the soft, gentle lilt he normally had. It was rough and booming, the voice of a conqueror._

_Belgium walked in, but this woman was somehow different from the cheery nation he knew. Her eyes, usually bright and sparkly, were empty. Her movements were robotic, and she didn't seem to blink. "He needs to be punished," she droned, reaching behind her back and tugging something forward. Whatever it was, it was shaking violently. Belgium pushed it closer to the throne, and Spain could see it was his little Romano. His cute face was twisted into a look of remorse and horror. It shouldn't have looked pleasing to the eye, yet Spain was happy to see it. "Punish him," Belgium mumbled, bowing to him._

_It all seemed so natural. Spain stood, looking down at the smaller nation. He was so helpless, so terrified. Was he afraid of Spain? The mere thought should have frightened him, but it only made him feel powerful._

_He set the sword down, eyes glued to that scared little face. He raised his hand, and Romano tried to step back. Belgium held him in place. With a satisfied smirk, he brought his hand down hard, aimed right for that adorable, chubby cheek._

_SMACK!_

Spain woke immediately, sitting up in his bed. The sound of him striking Romano was replaying in his head, over and over again. It was a dream. He didn't hurt his precious nation, he was okay.

So why did he have the sudden urge to burst into Romano's room and hurt him? Why did he want to bruise that immaculate skin of his? Why did he yearn to hear the high-pitched cries and pleas he would surely receive?

He shook it off. That was wrong. Spain didn't want to hurt his little tomato, he wanted to protect him. No matter how bad he was, he had to keep him safe. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to hurt him, just a little bit. So he would be obedient, and keep to himself. It made sense, didn't it? Austria would discipline Veneziano when he was misbehaving. True, it was with time outs, but it still counted.

He would wait. He would wait until tiny Romano did something that absolutely needed punishment. That was fair, wasn't it? It might not even happen.

Spain got up to make his nation some breakfast. In his heart, he really did want Romano to mess up, just so he could hurt him and get it over with. But he pushed it down. Because that was wrong.

* * *

 

The months dragged on, and Spain was careful to look out for the naughty things that Romano did. Everything that went wrong seemed to be so harmless, that a beating would have been too much. Broken dish? He had many. Dust collected without cleanup? Belgium would finish it anyway. Rude swears directed his way? That was just Romano's personality. No, nothing that his little nation did would be worth punishment. Of course, that didn't make him disappointed or anything. Not at all.

However, one blistering hot morning, Spain decided to take a day off from his gruesome job and hang out with Romano. His boss would understand, for he didn't like this job very much either. All he had to do was finish a report on the recent state of the country, which took so very long, but was worth it in the end.

It would have been a perfect day, involving the consumption of many tomatoes and a lazy afternoon _siesta_.

Why did Romano have to ruin it then?

It happened when he was walking around the hallways, looking for his tiny tomato. He checked the kitchen and all of the bedrooms. Where could he gave gone? As a last resort, Spain went to check his office.

There was Romano, playing happily, so unlike his usual sullen self. It was a nice sight, at first, with the small nation folding papers into different shapes and throwing them in the air, emitting a soft giggle each time. Until Spain got a good look at the papers. They were the ones he spent hours on finishing for his boss. Some were ripped, most were folded. His work, the sole reason he got to stay home. Romano had destroyed it.

The Italian looked up, his expression turning sour once he saw who it was. "Oh, it's the jerk bastard. What do you want?"

"Romano..." Spain began slowly, taking a step forward. "Those papers were important. What did you do?"

Romano frowned, clearly unused to the stern tone his caretaker was using. "I was just playing. So what, idiot?" There was a pause. Once he realized Spain was serious, the smaller got defensive. "Well you should have told me! Then I wouldn't have played with them! It's your fault!" he whined.

His fault? _His fault?_ How was that fair? Romano had no right to speak with him in that manner! What was South Italy to the great Kingdom of Spain? Romano was just an ungrateful, lazy...

" _Chigi!_ Hey, bastard, don't touch me there!"

...rude, inconsiderate...

"Ow! Stop that! Spain, what are you-"

...weak, disgusting little...

"I'm sorry! There, I said-"

...poor excuse for a nation.

"Please stop!"

Spain blinked, looking around the room. He was still in his office, with papers thrown all around. He heard a soft sniffle, and looked down to a truly grotesque sight. His hand was grasping Romano's curl, the other raised to strike. Romano's little face was wet with tears, his cheeks a stinging red, and scarlet liquid dripping from his nose. The expression he wore wasn't the normally grumpy one. It was fearful.

"I-I'm sorry, Spain. Don't...don't hit me again," he whispered, shaking like a leaf. Spain let go of his curl, and the smaller collapsed, loud sobs escaping from his tiny body. For a second, Spain wanted to make them louder. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Romano, burying his face in his soft hair.

"Oh, Romano... _lo siento, mi niño precioso, lo siento_ ," he whispered, stroking his back gently. He was shaking as well, both from fear and excitement.  

"Why did you...I said I was sorry! But you...you didn't even stop! I thought you...I can't..." Romano hiccupped, his breath quick and ragged. He was afraid, he was truly terrified of his supposedly gentle caregiver.

"Calm down, _mi tomate_. It's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you like that, I swear, I was just angry. I'll never hurt you like that again!" Spain whispered, hugging him tighter. He thought he would have felt more guilty than he did now. Strange, to say the least.

Romano pulled away slightly, and looked at him. His cheeks were going to bruise, it would be such an ugly contrast from his pretty skin. "Promise, bastard. Promise you won't do...that again!"

Spain nodded solemnly, kissing both of his cheeks. "I promise, Romano. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Promises were so easily broken. Even at the time, Spain knew this well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha if you think Romano's suffering stops here i have news


	2. Mereces esto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whY DO I KEEP DOING THIS OMFG

_Tick tock._

_Tick tock._

_Tick tock._

Spain watched the clock, his eyes not moving even a little. He was waiting, he had been doing it for the past hour. Only five more minutes. Five more, and he had to be normal again. How could he possibly do such an impossible feat after so long of being...the way he was.

Romano, his sweet little tomato, had promised to visit him today. He sounded so reluctant and grumpy on the phone, but Spain knew it was all a facade. That's how Romano was when he really wanted to do something. He kept it to himself and got angrier. It wasn't to make himself look tough or anything, it was for protection. After being around him for many years, Spain could see why he needed to be safe.

Two minutes had passed, and Spain's heart was pounding. Funny, he had forgotten he possessed a heart for a while. Those small things that made him human were slipping his mind, and it was only getting worse.

Another minute. He hadn't killed in a long time. That was supposed to be happy, yet he felt...disappointed? Bored? Was that supposed to be a common feeling to have after so much pain and suffering? Was he supposed to want to feel the blood on his hands again?

Another two. Romano was late. The thought of punishing him for this flickered briefly in his head, before being brushed off entirely. He couldn't hurt Romano again, no matter how much he felt like he could. Romano was a man now, still short and lithe but a man nonetheless. Besides, he had promised he wouldn't do that to him.

Three more. Did Romano remember when he was beaten? Did he ever think about the blows on his cheeks, and the feeling of blood leaking from his nose? Even more, did he loathe Spain for it? The thought of his Romano having burning animosity toward him was unbearable. Romano was the only one he truly needed. 

Two minutes and a knock at the door. Finally, he was here. Five minutes late, but that wasn't important. No matter how much his mind was telling him to make it important, it just wasn't enough to hurt the love of his life. He rose from the chair, and opened the door, a fake smile plastered on his face. " _Hola_ , _mi_ Romano," he chirped, grabbing the smaller nation and hugging him tightly. He was so small. Spain could crush him, if he really wanted to.

Romano leaned into him half-heartedly, for he never really enjoyed hugging. It was more Veneziano's thing than his, but Spain appreciated his attempt no less. " _Ciao_. You're lucky I even came here, I never would've made the trip on a normal day. Stupid Veneziano is with that potato bastard. It would be lame to be by myself today..."

Spain chuckled, pulling away reluctantly. "Right. Well, I'm glad you chose me to spend your time with then! _Gracias_!"

"Right," the other scoffed, "well, what do you want to do then? You better have planned something out, because you're supposed to entertain me."

Spain pondered, then brightened immediately. "How about I make you something to eat and then we can take a _siesta_? Would you like that?"

"Whatever. Make me something good, asshole." With that, Romano went to the living room to wait for his meal. Spain rushed to the kitchen, getting started with the preparations. This was the usual schedule; eat, sleep, then Romano leaves. Sometimes they watch a movie or take a walk around his country, but it rarely changes.

If he had to be honest, Spain was afraid of doing anything different. What if Romano did something that made him angry again? They never really talked about what happened, so was Romano just as frightened, possibly even more?

After a while and complaints from his guest, Spain finished preparing a meal for the two of them. It wasn't much, just paella, pa amb tomáquet, and salmorejo. Usually Romano could eat much, much more than that, but his irritable whining prevented Spain from making anything else. Which resulted in more complaining. Spain could never win with this nation.

Sure enough, once he approached the table, Romano spat, "Is that all?"

"Well, you were being so impatient that I-"

"So now it's my fault? Hmmph! Typical Spain, blaming everyone but yourself," hissed the nation, sitting down and immediately digging in.

Spain was hurt, and more than a little angry. He tried not to blame anyone for his faults, unless they really were the ones who started it. Romano was being unfair, as usual. A small voice in his head practically sang that his little nation needed to be punished for it. For a second, he seriously wanted to. But no, that would be wrong. He needed to stop thinking about it. But it kept eating at him. 

So he chattered about mindlessly, telling Romano about whatever popped into his mind. Romano, used to this sort of thing by now, listened and responded with short answers and grunts. He was much more focused on the food he was eating, which must have been very good considering he wasn't criticizing it.

After the plates and bowls were empty and Romano was yawning, Spain cleaned the table up. Isn't that _his_ job?, the voice in his head asked sourly. But, with much difficulty, he ignored it. It was his house, Romano didn't live there anymore. He wasn't his little subordinate now.

Up the stairs they went, comfortable silence surrounding them. It was actually nice, until Romano spoke up, "Don't you ever clean this place? Everything is so messy and gross."

"If you would like to clean it, be my guest," retorted Spain, surprising the both at how snappy the reply was.

Romano scowled at him, crossing his arms. "What's with the fucking attitude? It was just a question."

Spain struggled to put that smile back on his face. Why was he getting so agitated? "Well, you always have an attitude, Romano. Is it so wrong for the rest of us to have a turn?" It was meant to sound playful and sweet, but it sounded sarcastic. His anger was increasing by the second.

Romano stopped, his face heating up. "What is that supposed to mean, asshole? I'm rude because I'm under a lot of stress and have to take care of an idiot all the time. What's your excuse?"

"I could say the same thing!" Spain snapped, before he could stop himself. Oh no. That was mean. It was too late to go back now.

Romano's eyes widened, before narrowing sharply. "So I'm the idiot, eh? That's a fucking joke compared to you! You're the stupidest one there is, even more than my clueless brother! Fuck off!" He stormed into Spain's office, because that was the most dramatic thing he could think of. Spain followed, fuming as well.

"I must be stupid, if I really insist on spending time with you! Why do you have to be so cold, Romano, to the only one that can stand you?" Spain shouted, his hands balling into fists. Romano spun around, leaning against the wall and trembling with anger. This was the worst argument they had ever been in. Spain was scared. He didn't trust himself to stay calm.

"Fucking dumbass! _Ti odio!_ _Tu sei il peggiore_!" Romano screamed, stomping his feet as if he was a child again. They were too close, with Spain towering him. It was close enough for Spain to hurt him.

So, to protect him, Spain tried to calm down. "I do not hate you, Romano. I just don't think you appreciate what I've done for you. I raised you, didn't I? You might be a little rude, but I did an okay job, right?" He placed his hands on Romano's shoulders gently, kissing the top of his head.

Romano was silent, before looking up at him. His light green eyes were cold and unforgiving, and Spain knew they wouldn't be able to kiss and make up. "Right. What did you do? You just made me clean and stuff. And you weren't always nice. You fucking hurt me once."

Spain froze up. He remembered; why did he think otherwise? Is this why he was so awful to him? Because of that?

"You kept fucking hitting me. Remember that? So don't you fucking dare act like you're the innocent victim, Spain."

His voice was patronizing.

"You're an asshole. I know what you did back then, you had blood on you all the time. So peaceful, aren't you?"

He was making fun of him.

"You're no better than- no, you're worse than me. You're just a mess, a fucking mess. So I think I have the right to-"

But Romano didn't get to finish his sentence, for Spain gripped his shoulders hard and slammed him into the wall. Then again. Then again, and again, _and_ _again_. He kept slamming Romano back and forth, ignoring the noises he was making that were supposed to be words.

"Shut up!" Spain shouted each time, relentless. "You deserved it, Romano, just like you deserve it now! You are a terrible, awful person sometimes too! Don't you dare make fun of me!"

He kept slamming the smaller into the wall, until red painted the spot behind his head. His eyes were rolled up, and he was fighting back with the strength of a rag doll. Spain let go of his shoulders, and grabbed his neck instead.

Then, he squeezed. Hard. "You thought it was bad then? You'll be wishing it was only hits and blows this time. When I'm done with you, you'll finally respect the great Kingdom of Spain. Is that clear?"

Romano only kept opening and closing his mouth, small chokes and gasps escaping. He clawed the hands that restricted his airway pathetically, kicking his legs in an attempt to stop his ex-caretaker.

"I said, it that clear? Nod your head if you understand, _mocoso."_

Slowly, Romano nodded his head. Spain let go of him, and he fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. He didn't look up at Spain, and the other nation couldn't really blame him. If it was before, he would've taken pity and apologized to his Romano with kisses and hugs. But it wasn't before. Spain was too damaged to feel sorry for the nation below him. He only wanted to conquer. He didn't know who he was at the moment.

No, that wasn't entirely true. He knew he was a powerful, respectable nation. He also knew that South Italy was nothing compared to him. 

"Look at me," he commanded, and Romano reluctantly obeyed. "Get up." This was obeyed as well. Spain grabbed his arm, pulling him to his desk and harshly bending him over onto the hard, wooden surface. He heard a small whimper come from the body below him, and wanted to laugh at it. How weak, not even putting up a fight. This little thing wasn't the tough nation he pretended to be.

Spain pressed against his back, brushing his lips against Romano's ear. "You did this, Romano. I didn't want to hurt you again, but you made me do it. It is your fault. And now, you're going to learn your lesson. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this? To make you understand how horrible you can be? A long time, _mi_ Romano." He dragged his tongue against the shell of his ear, simply because he could.

Romano whined, squirming against him. " _Mi dispiace_ ," he breathed, tears pooling beside his face. " _Abbi pieta, Spagna!_ "

Spain laughed against his ear, making him wince. "You're sorry? A little too late for that, hmm? Do not worry, _mi tomate_. I still love you very much. This is for your own good, you understand that, don't you?"

The Italian sobbed, squeezing his tearful eyes shut. " _Sí_ ," he whimpered.

"Do not cry, Romano," Spain crooned, stroking his beloved's hair. "It will be over soon enough."

Romano tried to stop crying, ragged breaths being the only thing he could manage. His head hurt so much, he knew it had to be bleeding. He was already so exhausted, and it was only the beginning. He nodded, thinking that was the response the other man wanted.

"Good," Spain mumbled, feeling the heavy weight of guilt lift from him. Even Romano agreed that this was necessary. Nothing was wrong with this. This was meant to be.

He grabbed Romano's sensitive curl, relishing in the cries that were released. "So, Romano, want to play some games today?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback??? or not i am trash


	3. Quemado por el amor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is????awful????? yeah

South Italy Romano didn't like many things. He disliked his brother, because he was always so happy and everyone loved him. He disliked Germany, because he was a bad influence on dumb Veneziano. He certainly disliked potatoes and wurst and food not from Italy. He just loathed a lot of things. That was what he was known for. He created a mafia, for God's sake.

Spain was someone he couldn't dislike. Yes, at first he despised the man as a child and assumed he just wanted his late grandfather's inheritance, but he quickly grew attached to the tomato-loving moron. Even after he was beaten for ripping up those meaningless papers, he still loved Spain with all of his heart.

Even now, as he was bent over a desk and awaiting pain that would definitely come, he still couldn't hate him. His gentle, caring Spain had been replaced with the one he had recurring nightmares over, but he didn't want him to suffer for it. He just wanted the nice one back. But it was too late for him to want.

In his heart, he knew he probably deserved it.

"What would be the best punishment for you, Romano? Oh, you need so much of it, with how you've treated me for so long," Spain whispered, making the smaller squirm anxiously. He just wanted it to be over. But why would he be so lucky?

Then, Spain chuckled. Normally his laughter was soft and sweet, but this time it was the laugh of a serial killer. "I know. How about we start with a bath, to clean you all up. We can wash all that filth away. Would you like that, _mi amor?_ Please say that you would!" Romano could feel his hot breath against his neck. It was the only warmth he could find.

A bath? It sounded innocent. Too innocent. Romano honestly didn't know what to expect from Spain right now, he was unpredictable when he was angry. Though, it wasn't as if he had a choice. He nodded, reluctant.

Spain hummed, kissing his earlobe playfully before dragging him out of the office. Romano's eyes drifted to the staircase. He needed to escape. He would leave, give Spain a few days to get over whatever was happening, then wait for him to apologize. Then everything would go back to normal. Easy enough. All he needed was a distraction. How hard could it be?

Unfortunately, once they were in the bathroom, Spain shut the door and locked it. He wasn't as slow as Romano previously thought, that much was certain. Still, the lock was on the inside of the room, so it would take seconds to leave. Hope was the only thing he had right now, and he clung to it tightly.

"Strip," commanded Spain, leaning against the door and crossing his arms casually. The request both shocked and embarrassed Romano. Sure, he usually slept naked, but that was entirely different. He never had actually stripped for somebody, and was in bed before his dopey brother could see anything.

"I...I can't," squeaked the Italian, looking away. "Not while you're watching, that's too weird-"

_SMACK!_

In mere seconds, Spain had slapped him across the face. He didn't even hesitate, his hand moved seemingly on his own. The force of the blow was strong enough to bring Romano onto his knees. His eyes watered. That really, really hurt.

He looked up at Spain, and was horrified at what he saw. His eyes, once a pretty bright green, were now an acidic shade. He was shaking, and his face was twisted into the scariest expression possible. "Do not disobey. I will tell you once more, Romano, and you must follow it. _Strip_."

Romano shut his eyes as he started taking the clothes off. His cheek stung badly, he could feel it swell up. He just wanted to wake up and realize this was all a bad nightmare. Once he was completely naked, he brought his legs to his chest and tried to cover himself. If it was a much different situation, being like this in front of Spain wouldn't have sounded so bad. As perverted as that may be, Romano was a grown man with desires too. Before today, Spain had been one.

He felt eyes burn into him, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Stop looking at me like that. You raised me, you bastard, this isn't right...

"Stand," Spain said slowly. Romano really didn't want to obey to that, but what choice did he have? He would've been beaten if he didn't do it. Somehow, Spain hitting him was worse than any of this. Because he had promised before he wouldn't do it. He stood, completely exposed to his insane ex-caretaker. "Good boy. Now, step into the tub. Keep your mouth shut, that's all you have to do. _Sí?"_

Romano nodded once again, stepping into tub carefully. He wasn't sure what do expect. Spain opened one of the closest cabinets and pulled out a wooden bucket. Romano recognized it instantly. Back when he was younger, it was used to dump water on his hair to wash out the soap. But now...

Spain placed the bucket under the faucet, before turning one of the dials. Water spilled into the container, and Romano allowed himself to relax a bit. This wasn't so bad, was it? He didn't even notice that Spain only turned one of the dials and not both.

Spain picked up the filled bucket with ease. Clearly, he strength never weakened since before. He raised the container, over Romano's head, and looked at him. Truly looked at him. His eyes were cold, and held none of the warm sparks that used to flicker about. He wasn't himself anymore. He was someone new. "Stay still, now," he muttered, and tilted the bucket.

Romano wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't scalding water washing over him. He screeched as it hit his skin, the liquid feeling so hot it was almost cold. He immediately shrank back, but was held in place by Spain. His hand squeezed into the raw flesh, only making it feel so much worse.

"You need to be clean, _mi tomate_. One isn't enough. Five sounds better, doesn't it? Hmm? _Cinco, sí?"_ he repeated, over and over until Romano was forced to agree. That's all he needed to do, and it would be over soon. Spain grinned, snickering slightly. "You really will look like a tomato afterwards!" Somehow, Romano didn't find this very funny.

The bucket was refilled, and the pain came again. He was on fire, he had to be. Only actual flames could hurt so much.

Then again he was doused with the agonizing liquid. Again and again until Spain was happy. It was more than five, it had to be. Spain was lying to him. His skin was raw and it hurt to move. Some had accidentally seeped into his eyes, and mixed with the hot tears, a sensation that elicited a whine from the older nation's throat.

"There we go," the elder murmured, running a finger across the bright red chest in front of him. Romano bit his lip, hard, but stayed in place. He could taste blood. "Almost done. We still have to scrub you clean of your sins. I don't think a sponge will be quite efficient, though. You need something stronger..."

He trailed off, searching in a few of the cabinets for whatever he thought was right. Romano watched, shivering violently. His skin still burned, but he was cold as well. He wasn't sure how to even treat a condition like that, so he simply stayed as still as possible and waited for the eventual pain that would come.

Spain returned with something in his hand. With closer examination, Romano realized it was steel wool. It was to be used for especially hard stains. Not human skin. Spain drizzled whatever nearby soap-like substance he saw first, then grabbed one of Romano's arms.

"This might sting a little. But it's okay. It's only going to clean you up. That's what's important." Then, the steel wool was on his skin and it was a whole new thing of pain. Needless to say, the sharp pricking of the wool did not mesh well with his burnt skin. He tried to be quiet, only emitting tiny squeaks and whimpers. But when he saw blood seeping onto the wool, he shrieked shrilly.

Spain said nothing. Only let go of the mangled arm and went for the next one. The pain came again, with full force. Oh God, _please_ let it end. Make him stop, make him see that this wasn't right! But whatever deity was out there, if there was one, apparently did not get this message, or maybe they didn't care. For the other arm was just as bloody as the first in the end. It was as if a cat had gone loose, aiming specifically for his arms.

"Should we do your chest then? Or maybe your back? What do you think, Romano? You may speak." Spain sounded so excited. So genuinely happy to mock him and make him suffer. Did he always dislike Romano enough to do this? Did he hate him all this time?

"No," he rasped, "please stop here. Spain, please, I'm sorry for being a wicked person!" He paused, disturbed by the blank look he received. He tried something more powerful. " _Ti amo, Spagna_. _Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa_!"

Spain smiled. A sickening, crooked grin that was too big for his face. It wasn't the smile that Romano fell in love with, rather the opposite of it. He hated that fucking smile more than he hated Spain. " _Yo también te quiero_ , Romano, you know that. But you are not getting off the hook by saying you love me. I appreciate it, I really do, but it just isn't enough. No, I'm not satisfied until you really know how disgusting you can be. Then, only then, will I truly forgive you for all the trouble you've caused me. Do you understand?"

Stunned at the cruel, brutal words his ex-caretaker had told him, Romano simply nodded dumbly in response. Spain had called him disgusting. Maybe he was right. Why did he keep thinking that it was going to be any different if he begged? He was just a lowly, vile, poor excuse for a nation. 

_No_. No, he couldn't think that way, he couldn't let this version of Spain win, he still had a little bit of hope. So, he grabbed that bit of hope, and quickly motivated himself. He pushed Spain as hard as possible, before rushing to the door and unlocking it. He was free, at least from the bathroom. He ran into the hallway and dashed toward the staircase, sunlight radiating from the door below, before a heavy force knocked him over.

It was Spain. He had tackled him to the ground, and was now pinning his arms onto the floor. Romano couldn't move. His last bit of hope was shattered. So, having nothing left to lose, he opened his mouth and screamed. Someone had to hear him, right? There had to be somebody who would help him.

Spain watched him, an amused expression on his face. He relished in the screams, oh how he had missed them. They sounded angelic coming from his small nation, and he almost didn't want them to cease.

Almost. He hushed him sharply, and the effect was instantaneous. "That was a good try, Romano, it was. You almost escaped. Very impressive, but not quite enough, hm? You were too sloppy, and weren't watching me. You just pushed and ran. That is a silly mistake." He laughed, playing with that special curl on his head. "Then again, you and Veneziano were always weaklings, right? It's cute, really. If it were a different situation, I'd spare you for your efforts. But it isn't."

He stood, dragging Romano to his bedroom by his curl. The screeches and wails that were coming from the tiny nation signaled Spain on how sensitive that particular piece of hair really was. He'd have to research more on that later.

He shoved Romano against the wall, before punching him in the jaw easily. He then aimed for his nose, his mouth, and so on. Blow after blow, listening to the sounds they caused and changing them, like radio stations. He stopped once he saw blood drip down his nose and the corner of his lips. Bruises littered the once clear skin.

"Ah, your pretty face. What a shame. Though, I must say, it looks even better torn up and bloody. I might've considered letting you go after cleaning you, but I think you deserve more after trying such a stunt. Don't you agree, Romano?" he inquired, tilting his head in an exaggerated way. He was making fun of him. Romano guessed he had the right to. Spain had won. He had to accept his position, or else things would just be more painful. Romano, after much too long, was giving up.

"Yes," he whispered, wincing as the warm, sticky red fluid dropped from his nose onto the carpet in short waves. Just agree with him and move on, it would get by quicker that way. If he was the obedient, doting victim Spain wanted him to be then maybe he would get off easy. Perhaps with a little rest, he would be able to return home without having Veneziano cry over his wounds. He could try to repress this memory, and him and Spain could go back to normal. Just like before. Sure, the nightmares would come, and he wouldn't be able to sleep alone for a few centuries, but things would be okay. That's all he ever wanted.

Spain stroked his bruised jaw, cooing in a sickening sweet voice, "That's a good boy. See, is it really that hard to obey me? You just like being difficult, don't you? I can change all of that. When I'm done, you'll be perfect. The perfect henchman I always wanted. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Through his tears, Romano forced a smile and nodded. His words weren't as harsh as before, but they still promised more agony for him. He already burnt him and scrubbed his arms into shreds, what more could he do?

Spain leaned in, until their noses were touching. He said in a gentle, soft tone, "I'm going to fix you. But to do that, we'll need to rip you apart and put you back together again. Sound good?"

The words he used made the blood drain from Romano's face, more so than the blood that had already trickled from his nose and mouth.

"It will be okay, _mi amor_. We'll do it together. We'll break you as one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ewww WWW W W W EW  
> happy easter folks


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